In last month’s Dharma Byte, “Turning Points in Living the Zen Life,” I touched on a few of the time-of-life changes that we all go through from time to time, and the effect they may have on our practice, and vice-versa. One section, however, referred to turning points in zazen itself and that is where I want to pick up the thread this time.

The Most Important Thing in Buddhism

At one point more than halfway through Master Dogen’s tract titled “Fukanzazengi,” which means something like “Universal Promotion of Zazen” or “Principles of Seated Meditation,” he writes “Now that you know the most important thing in Buddhism, how can you be satisfied with the transient world?” It is difficult to know exactly which point he is referring to in the preceding sections of the long teaching, as he touches on so many aspects of Zen, as he is wont to do.

In the “Genjokoan” extract from “Bendowa,” which latter means something like “A Talk About the Way,” he lays out analogy after analogy about The Great Matter, and how to practice, at one point actually stating, “It is possible to illustrate this with more analogies. Practice-enlightenment and people are like this.” But what the “this” or the “most important thing” is that he is talking about is difficult to pin down. As Matsuoka Roshi would say, “Zen is something round and rolling, slippery and slick.”

It is tempting to throw words at this something, such as “zazen,” “enlightenment,” “study the self,” “compassion,” et cetera. But we find that nothing sticks, precisely because it is slippery and slick, receding ever more out of our reach when we try to pin it down. Also because language is designed to be definitive and dispositive, giving us answers rather than raising more questions.

In my most recent Dharma Byte, published in May, I made some comments regarding the Precepts of Zen. I closed with the following:

The first Five Precepts, in the Matsuoka lineage, are given to candidates for Initiation into Soto Zen (J. jukai tokudo), while the Ten Precepts total are reserved for the first formal stage of training as a priest, which we call Discipleship (J. zaike tokudo). Other lineages differ. But the receiving of Precepts is regarded similarly in all sects of Zen, as a living act of commitment to examining our life, and penetrating to its depths.

The meaning of the Precepts evolves over time, maturing with our practice. Like everything else in Zen practice, “The meaning does not reside in the words but a pivotal moment brings it forth” (Precious Mirror Samadhi). Hopefully, for those of you who have gone through Jukai in the past, this has become clear. For those of you who are planning to do so this year, may it come to pass soon.

The only other point I would like to make about the Precepts, is that they are not something new or different, really nothing special. You already harbor precepts about killing, lying, stealing, et cetera, which may be inchoate, and may not be fully conscious. When you go through the initiation ceremony, it raises your own precepts to the level of conscious awareness, perhaps for the first time. You may find that your preconceived precepts do not match those of Zen Buddhism. In the difference you will find the critical sameness.

In this follow-up, I want to suggest that you consider undergoing Jukai in July, if you have not already done so. And if you feel you are ready to commit to a more serious practice of Zen.

This last sentence is, of course, an oblique reference to The Harmony of Sameness and Difference, by Shitou Xiqian (J. Sekito Kisen), one of three Chinese, or Ch’an, chants in the Zen liturgy. It is a wonderful dissertation on the mind-boggling distinction-without-a-difference that we associate with our dualistic notions of reality. We chant it each Monday morning after zazen:

Grasping at things is surely delusionAccording with sameness is still not enlightenment

So, sorting out the “Myriad Things” or “10,000 Things” into the usual categories the mind conjures, however useful, represents a fundamental kind of delusion. But merely intuiting the sameness underlying the obvious differences in things is not, in itself, enlightenment. According to Matsuoka Roshi’s “360 Degree” model, this is realized at 180 degrees, only halfway around the circle, from our beginning Zen practice at point zero.

The practice of Zen is often referred to as a form of cultivation. Like growing a garden, where we cultivate by tilling and amending the soil, providing water, locating for adequate sunshine. Then comes planting the seeds, preventing weeds from crowding out the plantings, scavengers from eating the produce, and both from taking over the plot.

In cultivating the Buddhist Precepts, the process may be seen as analogous to gardening. Long before we become aware of something called precepts, the context of their cultivation is already present, just as the soil, sunshine, rain, and adverse, competing forces are already in place, long before we decide to plant our garden.

It is also true that something must have happened to make us decide to attempt gardening in the first place. Our parents or grandparents may have been gardeners. We may not have access to an adequate supply of fresh produce from the local market. We may have concerns over the quality of the produce we find at the local market, including whether it contains preservatives or residual pesticides, or is not really fresh enough. Or we may just think it is the cool thing to do.

Once the garden is underway, we confront the unromantic realities. Gardening is hard work. We have to make decisions regarding what to do about weeds, insects, and other bothersome realities that are working against the success of our project. The process of discovery often involves more negative surprises than positive ones.